


one look, twice sold

by blackkat



Series: Weird Westerns [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Developing Relationship, Humor, M/M, Storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 11:38:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20134855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “You’resurethis is the right way?” Iruka asks, raising a hand to squint against the sun. “There’s nothing out here.”





	one look, twice sold

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Think I can ask for some Iruka/Utakata or Kisame/Genma. And sandstorm?

“You’re _sure_ this is the right way?” Iruka asks, raising a hand to squint against the sun. “There’s nothing out here.”

“You’re the one who hired me,” Utakata answers mildly, though there’s a sharp response on the tip of his tongue. Iruka was, admittedly, much cuter before they lost all their supplies and ended up stranded in the middle of the Fire Country desert without any rescue in sight. 

Really, after so many years dodging the law, Utakata should know better than to ask pointed questions. Or to keep company with those who do, especially when powerful people start to take offense to the asking. He sighs to himself, checks their position relative to the slow descent of the sun, and decides they’re doing well enough. When the stars come out he’ll be able to get a more accurate idea of where they need to go. 

“It’s not that I doubt you,” Iruka says, though that’s very definitely what he was doing just a moment ago. “It’s just—we haven’t seen any markers.”

Utakata snorts. “You’re assuming Utatane’s men would be kind enough to drop us somewhere with signs,” he says dryly. “I don’t think that’s how this works.”

Iruka pulls a face. “Apparently,” he huffs, and rubs a hand over his eyes. “I’m going to _skin_ Naruto,” he mutters, more to himself, Utakata is sure, than to his companion. 

Utakata hums, sidestepping a tangle of dead-dry tumbleweed, too thick a mass to even roll, and takes a glance behind them. The clouds he’s been watching since they woke up out here are still looming, but—it feels like the wind has picked up, and Utakata doesn’t think it’s his imagination. 

“He’s your ward, right?” he asks, because he hadn’t before—money is money, and a job for someone like Iruka is at least mildly less objectionable than some of the careers he’s undertaken over the years. 

“He’s _dead,_ is what he is,” Iruka says waspishly, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. Then he hesitates, mouth twisting, and says, “He was my ward, but—one of his friends ran away to come west, and Naruto followed him. But he came without _anything,_ and I have to at least find him for a _minute,_ even if he doesn’t want to come home.”

It seems to Utakata rather like anyone who decides not to go back home when there’s someone as devoted and kindly as Iruka waiting for them is an unmitigated fool, but he doesn’t say as much. It’s possible he’s still a little sore about Iruka mouthing off to Koharu Utatane and getting them dumped in the desert to die. 

A particularly strong gust of wind almost knocks Utakata off his feet, makes Iruka stumble, and the bad feeling Utakata has had since they woke up redoubles. He catches Iruka by the elbow, keeping him upright, and turns. Empty desert all around, and it makes him curse, makes him pick up the pace as he pulls Iruka over the next rise and down the other side. 

“Utakata?” Iruka asks, alarmed, but he gamely keeps pace. “What’s wrong?”

“Sandstorm,” Utakata says grimly, and doesn’t look at where the sand is lifting off the ground, whirling and bouncing as the wind rises. “We need to find shelter before it hits, or your ward is going to be an orphan before nightfall.”

Iruka pales, but shoves his bowler down on his head a little further and quickens his step. _“Is_ there any shelter?” he asks, dismayed. 

_Probably not,_ Utakata doesn’t say. “I thought I saw something in this direction,” he offers instead. “There are petrified trees out here, sometimes, and what I saw was one…”

It’s hardly perfect, but at least it’s something. Utakata grits his teeth, forging up the next dune, and—

“Oh,” he says, startled, because that’s _not_ a petrified tree. It is, however, a tiny homestead next to what was likely once a riverbed, half-buried in the sand. Relief surges, and Utakata lets out a breath, turning to smile at Iruka. “There we go,” he says.

But Iruka isn’t looking at the homestead; his eyes are on Utakata, and there’s a flush rising in his cheeks. Abruptly, he jerks his gaze away, and says in a voice that’s an octave higher than normal, “I—will it even make it through a sandstorm?”

Utakata frowns, a little bewildered by the reaction, but nods as he starts down the dune. When Iruka slips, Utakata grabs his wrist, hauling him back to his feet, and doesn’t let go. “It looks like it’s survived others,” he says. “We won’t be comfortable, probably, but we’ll survive the night, and that’s good enough for me.”

Iruka stares at Utakata’s hand in his, and his ears are turning red. “All right,” he agrees, and Utakata smiles and drags him down to the little shack. They’re going to have to share some tight quarters for the next few hours, but he can’t quite bring himself to mind. Things are looking up. 


End file.
